


Missed Appointments

by TheOneAndOnlyTrueJack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Addict Sherlock, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Post-Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock's Mind Palace, wiggins - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneAndOnlyTrueJack/pseuds/TheOneAndOnlyTrueJack
Summary: Why was Wiggens with Sherlock in The Lying Detective? Was he he just Sherlock's supplier, or was there another reason?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, so feedback would be amazing. Seriously, even if you hate it, let me know why :p

 

The needle hurt. The needle always hurt.

  
Sherlock grimaced as it pierced his skin, straight into his veins.His thumb pressed down, releasing the drug into his system.

His drug.

His medicine.

"Just what the doctor ordered, right Sherlock?"

The whisper was faint, and slithered forth from the darkest corner of the room.

Sherlock waved his hand furiously in front of his face, lashing out at nothing. "ENOUGH!"

He looked around, catching his bearings. He was in Baker Street. He'd been held up there for three weeks now. Ever since...ever since... Sheffield...

Sherlock suddenly felt faint, stumbling back into his black leather armchair. The needle fell from his grasp, hitting the floor.

"No", Sherlock thought, gripping his hair, curling up in a ball. "No, don't think. Can't think. Mustn't think...anymore. I'm not supposed to...I'm so sick of...thinking...always just... **THINKING!** "

He screeched the last word, ripping hair from his head as he did so.

Sherlock buried his head in his hands, trying his best to catch his breath, which he only just noticed was becoming labored.

"You sound like a dog in heat. It wasn't little ol' me who got you excited, was it?"

Sherlock ignored the voice. He knew it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Unless...

He looked up, his eyes squinting in the dark. As they adjusted, the blurred image of his flat came into view.

221B.

Home sweet home.

What a dump.

"My fault of course", Sherlock mused, almost cracking a half smile.

"Again", chimed in the whisper.

"Argh". Sherlock gritted his teeth, trying his best to ignore the voice. He held a shaking hand in front of him, trying to focus. To drown out the voice with his own thoughts.

"That whole 'No thinking' thing sure didn't last long, did it Sweethea..."

"YES!", Sherlock proclaimed suddenly, clasping his still shaking hand. "My fault. Completely mine. I haven't cleaned this place in weeks, and...for God's sake's, what is that smell?" His nose scrunched as he finally noticed the pungent odor in the room. "God is that ME?"

Sherlock looked down at his wrinkled, worn out clothes.

"I haven't changed in weeks, have I?", Sherlock moaned, checking the video archive of his mind palace.  
Lot of noise up there recently.  
God I haven't even bathed since she di..."

Sherlock suddenly doubled over in his chair, clutching his chest in pain. Something was wrong. Sherlock was used to heroin pumping through his system. This felt different. He wasn't in control this time. His body became covered in sweat and his clothes clung to his frame. His hands shook, and this time there was no stopping them. His mouth dried up, and he found himself gasping for air. His breathing came sharp. Painful. Like the air was made of glass, cutting his lungs to shreds.

"I promised you a fall. Now welcome to the landing"

Sherlock's heavy head sung up, his blurry eyes staring straining against the pain, fighting against the dark clouds threatening to overtake his vision.  
The whisper had taken form now, slinking it's way from the shadows of the room. The whisper dragged the shadow's with it, wrapping them around it into a tight dark suit. It's hair was slicked back, its eyes as black as sin. The whisper smiled.

" _Miss Me?_ "

Sherlock's eyes widened in sheer terror. His pulse raced, as his mouth hung open, desperately trying to form a response. To make sense of the impossible.

"What...what are you?"

"You know who I am. I'm Death, and I'm here for our appointment"

"How can...this isn't real. YOU'RE NOT REAL!", Sherlock screamed, leaping before being tackled back into his chair by Moriarty. The chair tipped backwards, and Sherlock's head hit the carpet of 221B.

The whisper was already straddling him, one knee pressing down onto Sherlock's chest. It began landing punches on each of his needle marks, as if it already knew they were there. Each blow sent fresh hot pain through Sherlock's system, the pain doubling with each one.

"SAY MY NAME!"

*punch*

" **SAY IT!** "

"ARGHHH!", Sherlock shrieked, tears filling his eyes. His body started shaking. Violently. He was going into shock.

"I WAS YOU'RE BEGINNING, AND i'LL BE YOU'RE END!

*Punch*

"I GAVE YOU'RE LIFE MEANING, AND I CAN TAKE IT AWAY!"

*Punch*

"I AM YOUR **WEAKNESS!** "

*Punch*

"YOUR **FEAR!** "

*Punch*

"YOUR **ENDING!** "

The whisper slapped Sherlock's face, as his body continued writhing on the floor. The whisper leaned in close, it's haunting voice penetrating Sherlock's mind.  
"You're dying", it hissed, "But I can stiiiiillll huuurrrt youuuu" Then it suddenly shrieked, "NOW SAY MY NAME!"

*Slap*

Sherlock's face reeled from the blow, his body continuing to shake on the floor. His vision was blurring, both from tears as well as the darkness encroaching on the edges of his mind. Gathering his last ounces of strength, Sherlock bellowed in pain.

" **MORIARTY!** "

Sherlock's body suddenly stopped shaking, only for him to find he could not move it at all. His arm, his legs. He couldn't even blink. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, staring up at the creature slowly getting up of his chest.

The Napoleon of crime straightened his jacket, staring down at the consulting detective. His expression one of utter disgust.

"Pathetic", he scowled, looking at Sherlock as though he were a bug he had just scrapped off the underside of his shoe. "All this time, and this is how we end?"

Water started flowing into the room, seemingly rising up from the floorboards.

"I mean, you really thought that you could change? That little Yellowbeard had made a friend?"

The water was up to his ears now, and Sherlock was internally screaming. Desperately willing his body to move.

"I mean, that would be funny if it wasn't just sad"

Sherlock's mind was racing, fear taking over his entire being. This was it. This was his end. His Samara.

"You know how it has to be Sherlock. How it always has to be. In the end it will always be just you and me".

"YOU. AND. ME"

With this Moriarty threw his arms wide, and the back of his head exploded, his body quickly splashing into the pool.

Sherlock couldn't even react, as the water had finally reached above his face and he started to drown.

Still paralyzed, his mind palace went into overdrive. The once pristine halls where flooded and ruined. The once meticulously ordered rooms gone, as the memories they once contained were being deleted. The lights were going dark, and Sherlock trudged down the shrinking hallways. Soon, there was nowhere left to run. The sprawling palace containing the facts of the word, had become a single room containing the last remnants of Sherlock's mind.  
As his lungs finally gave out, the last room disappeared, and Sherlock was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

...

..

.

And then -

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
His eyes shot open, and Sherlock Holmes woke up on the floor of 221B, heroin needles littering the floor, the smell of vomit in the air.

"Back with us then, yeah?"Sherlock, still dazed, looked to where the voice was coming from, only to be greeted by the image of a junkie wearing Sherlock's dressing gown. Wiggins.

"What...what happened?", Sherlock finally managed to get out, starring in confusion.

"You had too much I guess..."

"Guess? You gue-"

"You were already out when I came in"

Sherlock started to stand, and Wiggins reached out a hand, helping him to his feet.

"Why...why were you here? How'd you even get in here?"

"The door was unlocked. You invited me, 'member?", Wiggins answered, guiding Sherlock over to his chair.

"What...", Sherlock shook his head, trying to get his brain back into gear. "What are you talking about?"

"On the phone", Wiggins said, as he made his way towards the kitchen Sherlock had turned into a drug lab.

"The phone?", Sherlock asked, head in his hands. Nothing made sense. Why couldn't he remember.

"Something about an appointment", came Wiggins voice. "You said you didn't want to go alone"


End file.
